hit the ground running


I once had a boss who worked me into the ground. Cut from the same cloth as Miranda Priestly from the Devil Wears Prada, she was sharp. Abrasive. A master tactician. The head of an international organization (in a “third-world” nation), this woman spent her career tearing down walls and carving out a path in a male dominated field. I feared her. We all did. She ruled with an iron fist and the sharpest of tongues.

And her favourite line to bark, above all others, was:

Don’t bore me with your excuses. Figure it out and hit the ground running.

She often said these words after giving you a task that was completely foreign and a timeline that seemed impossible. But while I despised her methods, finding them abominable to the nth degree, I quickly figured out you either either sink to the bottom of the sea under her watch or start flailing your limbs and learn how to swim.

hit the ground running
What? When you’ve got #legsfordays compression socks rule.

I learned how to adapt to the gnarliest of situations because of that Powerhouse. Her approach taught me lessons on assertiveness, thinking outside the box, and how to develop a thick skin. With every new burden she placed on my shoulders I understood that some elements bend when exposed to fire and I housed endless reserves of strength and resilience.

Ironic, isn’t it, how we acquire some of our longest standing lessons in life? It’s been nine years since I worked for that woman but she’s never far from my mind. Oddly enough, I always think of her when I lace up my shoes. See the glint in her eye as I pull up my socks. Catch the scent of her perfume as I plan my route.

I hear the challenge in her voice as my feet make contact with asphalt.

If you hit the ground running, Girl, I promise you’ll figure it out.”

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